


Whiskey Floats

by wendyx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Humor, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:55:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26561761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendyx/pseuds/wendyx
Summary: Harry and Hermione, left alone on a Saturday night, have a quiet night in and now find themselves rather drunk in the Heads' Common Room.
Kudos: 5





	Whiskey Floats

There was barely anything left in their shared bottle of Firewhiskey when the alcohol finally caught up with Harry and Hermione. Hermione felt it first, her smaller stature working against her, and pretty soon her explanations of how cholesterol and body fat affected one’s alcohol tolerance slurred beyond intelligibility. Not that Harry had been paying much attention anyway. He was convinced that the rug they were sitting on was somehow growing softer the more he ran his fingers through it.

“I swear Hermione, you’ve gotta feel this,” he mumbled in a daze, his eyes trained on his own hands as his fingers disappeared and reappeared in the thick shag.

Her reaction was sincere and immediate, a gentle gasp escaping her as she clutched handfuls of the material in her fists. “Oh, Harry!”

“I know,” he breathed, a wide grin appearing on his face as he turned to look at her. “It’s absolutely mental.” Hermione’s shoes were quickly discarded, followed by her grey knee-socks (one of which nearly caught Harry’s ear as it sailed past). She dug her toes in and rubbed her legs against the rug, wondering why they had only just made this discovery.

They settled in on the floor, both spreading out as much as they could in the small sitting area of the Heads’ Common Room. The heat from the nearby fireplace was coupled by the whiskey’s warmth in their bellies and spreading through their veins to create a perfectly cozy and lethargic mood. Crookshanks apparently agreed, and was lying on his back closer to the fire and purring quietly.

Hermione had long since conceded to Harry that this had been a great idea for spending their Saturday night. Ron was away attending the wedding of yet another cousin somewhere in Whales, and though he was loathe to go, he recognised his mother’s yearning for happy family gatherings in the wake of such a terrible war. It seemed there was always someone getting married these days, and being a Weasley meant attending more weddings than most. 

Ginny was away with him, and Neville and Luna had seemed rather touchy earlier in the Great Hall, so that counted them out. No one else from their close friends had opted to return to Hogwarts, and Hermione knew it was mostly their reluctance to be separated that brought Harry and Ron back with her for their final year.

Harry’s suggestion that they have a quiet night and finally try out the Firewhiskey that had been a gag gift from Seamus sounded more appealing than revising or sitting in the Gryffindor common room when most of their friends weren’t there. Hermione knew that Ron would have rather spent the evening with her and Harry, instead of likely being forced to dance with his Great Aunt Tessie, but at the moment she felt too warm and the rug too soft for her to care much.

While Hermione was lost to her daydream of a sulking Ron being forcibly manoeuvred by the stiff old witch, Harry cut off his rambling about the rug as he suddenly had an idea. A quick glance around revealed what he was looking for.

“You know what would feel even better than this rug?” he slurred slightly, grasping around his pockets.

Hermione sighed and stretched her arms over her head, pointing her wiggling toes at the fire before finally looking over at him.

“Nothing,” she mumbled, her face was flushed and her smile serene. “I could sleep here for ages.”

“Hey Firebolt, c’mere.”

Hermione turned her head at the sound of the broomstick falling over and hitting the floor, and watched with bewildered eyes as the broom rolled lazily towards him.

“What on earth?” She clenched her eyes shut and opened them again, but nothing changed. “Harry, that wasn’t even a proper spell!” He just shrugged.

The broom stopped next to Harry, and the boy grinned victoriously. He clambered onto it, draping his arms over the handle in front of him and one of his legs in the back. Once he was lying flat as if diving for a Snitch, he tossed his wand aside and yawned.

“Alright. Not too high, ok? Just a little bit.” 

Hermione had no idea what he was up to, and why was he talking to his broom? She glanced wearily at the abandoned whiskey bottle, wondering what extra side effects magical alcohol might have, not to mention any number of things that Seamus might have done to it. 

To her astonishment, the broom rose off the ground gently until it was hovering about a foot off the ground. Harry rested his cheek against his folded hands and left one of his legs to dangle down onto the rug below. 

“S’like being home,” he mumbled with a deep sigh, then seemed to settle in for a nap.

Hermione crawled closer to the hovering wizard and poked his shoulder. He bobbed away gently before floating back to the same place, hardly stirring. She shook her head.

“You’re one weird bloke, Harry,” she murmured while she shuffled and wobbled back to her spot on the rug. “Don’t go flying that thing, drunk as you are.”

“Whatever Herms,” he mumbled and then chuckled to himself. Her nasty look at the nickname was lost on him.

It was less than 5 minutes later when curiosity got the best of her and she looked around for her wand before giving up and grabbing Harry’s.

“Wingardium Leviosar,” she slurred, pointing at her clothes. Nothing happened, predictably, as she heard her own awful pronunciation. She was glad her skin was already flushed from the alcohol, and grateful for Ron’s absence in that moment.

A second attempt had the desired result, but the hanging sensation was uncomfortable and she cancelled the spell quickly. Disappointed, she tried to think of other spells that might work. Somewhere off to the side, Harry began to hum tunelessly as he hovered on his broom, now rocking gently from side to side.

Suddenly she had an idea and quickly thought through a rough arithmantic conversion to modify the levitation spell and add a base sequence from the Cushioning Charm. It took more tries than it might have without the helping hand of Ogden’s Finest, but after a few attempts and further adjustments, she found herself floating on her back a few centimetres off the ground and feeling weightless.

“Harry?” she slurred. She received a grunt in response. “You were right. This is even better than the rug.”

Harry opened his eyes lazily and saw her oscillating up and down as if she was lying on a waterbed.

“Wicked,” he grinned and gave a weak thumbs up that went unseen, before his eyes fell shut again.

They continued to hover in the middle of their common room, Harry’s humming finally tapering off as the warmth and quiet crackle from the fireplace lulled them both to sleep.

It wasn’t until a couple of hours later, once they were both deeply asleep, that Kisny - the Hogwarts House-elf assigned to attend the Head Boy and Head Girl - crept in and cleared away the forgotten whiskey and tumblers. Harry and Hermione’s magic had gently returned the pair to the ground shortly after they’d given in to sleep, and it was with a disapproving shake of the head that Kisny lifted them one at a time and floated them to their respective rooms.

They might be the saviours of the wizarding world, but Kisny was an old elf and she had seen all three of them enough times throughout their years at Hogwarts, and even in their time since returning, that she was quite aware of their capacity for causing trouble. 

Especially Miss Granger, Kisny thought with a huff. Although she liked to act like the most reasonable and level headed among the three of them, stories of the Knitting Debacle of ’95 were still spoken of to this day among the house elves.

With the room cleared and the heroes put to bed, Kisny snapped her fingers and disappeared from the common room with a soft pop.


End file.
